


The Portrait of Sirius Black

by BrynnRedoix



Series: Bringing Back Sirius Black [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, Not a Crossover, Slow Build, character resurrection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-19 22:54:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14247480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrynnRedoix/pseuds/BrynnRedoix
Summary: In the summer before her sixth year, Hermione Granger stumbles upon a Muggle classic in Grimmauld Place. The book, titled The Picture of Dorian Gray, so surprises her with its clear magical association she begins to search for more information about the author and characters therein. And so Hermione discovers a diary that could potentially change the world, or at least the life of one ill-fated Marauder. She goes on a mission to bring said Marauder back to life despite the odds and the very clear dangers.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first chaptered Harry Potter fanfic and is a completed work. I will update it regularly and am hoping to also add in a sequel that I have started. This fanfic is the beginning of a 2-3 part series I am currently writing. 
> 
> *Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or The Picture of Dorian Gray. Those are owned by JK Rowling and Oscar Wilde respectively. I write for entertainment purposes only and not for pay.

**The Portrait of Sirius Black**

**By: Rae**

-A “Harry Potter” Fanfic-

 

_“The artist is the creator of beautiful things. To reveal art and conceal the artist is art’s aim.”_

_-Oscar Wilde, Preface from ‘The Portrait of Dorian Gray’_

 

Hunched in a black-backed recliner in the Black family library sat one Hermione Granger, bushy hair falling wildly around her face, her hands gently parting the pages of a book. By the looks of it, it was an older book with worn pages, and Hermione treated it reverently as she read, eyes scanning the words hungrily but blankly. A few pages later she closed the book, having finished it and set it to the side on a table laden with two piles of books.

This particular book she placed on the larger pile and then reached to the smaller one for the topmost book. Taking a moment, she sighed and pulled out a hair tie which she used to pull her long hair back into a messy ponytail before picking up the book to glance at it again. Her eyes scanned over the title listlessly, and she sighed once more before laying the book on the arm of the chair and standing, stretching her back as she did so. Her back gave an enormous pop, causing her to jump slightly, and then she placed her hands slightly behind her on her lower back and pushed back again, just to make sure she had stretched properly.

A moment later she walked aimlessly out of the library, closing the door behind her. It was habit, really; no one else bothered to enter the room, especially now that Kreacher had been cowed into submission by Dumbledore and was back to maintaining the noble house of Black once more. None of the rooms required the serious clean-up that she, the Weasley’s, Harry, and Sirius had engaged in last summer. Her heart gave a pang as she remembered the laughter as they sprayed the curtains to rid them of the doxies and the amusement she’d gotten when Molly realized George and Fred had been sneaking doxies into their pockets for use in their trick boxes.

Walking past the sitting room, she noticed Harry, Ron, and Ginny sitting inside. Harry had only arrived at the Black house the week before, but with his coming, things had turned suddenly bleaker. It was depressing to be in the house with him, and Hermione was nearly broken to realize how much pain her best friend was going through. It made her heart ache to see the raw pain in his eyes when he looked around the house, and she knew it must be difficult for him to be in the house he had hoped to share with Sirius.

She, herself, was never as enamored of Sirius as Harry had been, and she knew it was her fault at times that Sirius was cool with the three of them. It was only logical, she knew, that he would be resentful of her practicality and cautious nature, considering he had always prized risk-taking and impetuous actions. But she regretted some of the harshness she’d always felt towards him, and she especially regretted anything she might have said to make him act coolly toward Harry. For herself, she didn’t mind, but with Harry, she was so worried that he might break from all the pressure he was under.

Now that he was here, she had not seen him so much as crack a smile. His heart seemed buried, and all he showed was a blankness that was starting to scare her, but for the life of her, Hermione didn’t know what to do to help him. So she took her grief, both for Harry and Sirius, with her and disappeared into the library, searching for her books.

Books had always been Hermione’s sanctuary. When she was younger and the children in school made fun of her bushy hair and big teeth, she hid behind books and learned of places she’d never seen before and histories she wished she could be a part of. When she grew older and went to Hogwarts, it was often her books, her textbooks even, that she hid behind once more in her first years when people taunted her for her looks and know-it-all nature, and more than once she had used her books as a means of ignoring the pain from one of Malfoy’s “Mudblood” comments.

With Harry here, she had found herself trying, for the first few days, to engage him in conversation and to draw him out so they could help him. Instead of erupting in a rage as she had thought he would, though, Harry only turned more sullen and remained silent, not making any comments and only responding when absolutely necessary. Hermione was at a loss as to how to get him to open up about the pain she knew he must be feeling, and when Ron and Ginny verbally chastised her for one particular moment of questioning Harry, she nearly broke down. The tension was wearing on her, and that was the last straw. So she did what she would in any circumstance. She retreated to the library and drew up a pile of books to read.

Now, however, she was hungry and quite thirsty, so she glanced into the sitting room as she passed on her way to the kitchen. Ron and Ginny appeared to be engaged in an intense game of wizard’s chess, and Harry was staring listlessly out the window. Hermione paused in her walking and looked carefully at him. She saw the signs of strain on him that he had, so far, successfully ignored. His eyes were perpetually narrowed, and there were small wrinkles beginning to form along his forehead; she knew this from her hours talking with him earlier in the week, trying to draw him out. As she glanced at him, she saw him sigh heavily, and his eyes grew somehow darker and emptier, as when a person has lost all hope. Her heart sank in her chest, and she noted his pursed lips as he continued to ignore the siblings in front of him.

Turning from the depressing scene, Hermione made her way into the Black kitchen, where she found, to her disappointment, Molly Weasley and Remus Lupin engaged in conversation. All talking stopped when she entered, as she knew it would. The two stared at her as she entered.

“How is the reading going, Hermione?” Remus asked kindly, eyeing her wearily as he sipped on his cup of tea.

She spared a small glance for him and noted the shuttered pain in his eyes and the world-weary look he sported almost all the time now. “I just finished reading _Emma_ ,” she responded quietly, going to the cupboard. “I’ve read more than half of the books I picked out. Though I do wonder where Sirius found all these Muggle classics. It seems like the kind of thing Kreacher would have disposed of immediately.”

Molly chuckled at that and grinned when Hermione turned to her curiously. “Kreacher would have if Sirius had allowed him into the library. He forbade him from entering and told him if he caught him there he’d give him clothes,” she explained. Hermione raised an eyebrow at that, and Molly caught the unspoken question. “Oh, the books weren’t for him; you know Sirius wasn’t much of a reader. But he wanted some of you all to stay with him. He was lonely all cooped up here in the house with nothing to do.”

Her voice broke off as she realized what she’d said. Turning a bit red, she bustled over to the teapot, turning on the burners of the stove and pulling out a tin of tea to put in when the pot warmed.

Hermione wondered at something Molly had said, though. “Who did he want to stay here? I mean, I know he wanted Harry to live with him, but who else did he want to have come here?”

It was Remus who answered this query. “Well, he got some of the books for me, since he knew how much I love to read,” he said, chuckling a bit at some memory that obviously reminded him of Sirius’s opinion of reading. Getting a nostalgic look on his face, Remus said, “He also knew that I wasn’t likely to get another job anytime soon, not with the Ministry’s decrees and whatnot. Sirius wanted me to move in or at least come visit as often as the Order allowed since I don’t have much else to do.” He paused, and Hermione nodded, understanding what he meant. She’d known, of course, that Sirius was lonely in the Black house with no one but Kreacher and Buckbeak around to entertain himself with.

“But who else did he get the books for? You said he only got some of them for you,” she reminded Remus, breaking him out of his reminiscence.

“That’s right,” he responded, avoiding looking anywhere but his teacup. “He got the rest of them for you. He knew that you and Ron were Harry’s best friends, and he wanted to have both of you over to visit during the summers and such. Sirius told me that he knew you’d be bored if you didn’t have anything to read when you came, so he ordered several Muggle classics and other books for you to enjoy in addition to some of the other books in his library.” His voice grew wry with humor as he added, “Of course, he couldn’t let you read all of them; there are some pretty Dark texts in there, after all. This is the Black family library, you know.” He grinned at the surprised expression on her face. “You really shouldn’t be so surprised, Hermione. Sirius could be quite thoughtful when he wanted to be.”

By this time, Molly had finished brewing the tea, and she set a cup in front of Hermione on the table, and a few minutes later she placed a small plate of snacks in front of the girl, who took the plate and cup and exited the kitchen without a word. Walking back to the library, Hermione’s head was in a fog; she’d never considered Sirius a thoughtful person or even someone who did much thinking before acting. But this showed that he not only cared about Harry’s well-being but he also seemed to care about her, Harry’s friend. It was a shock to Hermione that she’d never noticed this part of Sirius before, and she was quite confused to realize that it hurt her to only realize something like this after he was dead.

Placing the plate on top of the cup, she carefully opened the door to the library and entered it, closing it behind her, before going to her chair. She placed the cup and plate on the table with the books and sat gingerly in the chair, curling her feet underneath her and ignoring Crookshanks, who had slipped into the room earlier, when he tried to jump up onto her lap. She pulled the plate in her lap instead and took a sip of tea before pulling the book she’d picked up earlier into her hand.

She read the title once more. It was another Muggle classic called _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ and appeared to be rather short, like _Emma_ had been. She should be done with it in a few hours, she realized. Pulling the pages apart, she landed on the book’s Preface, which immediately caught her attention. The author, Oscar Wilde, was obviously trying to make a point with this book, and Hermione was determined to figure it out.

Taking a bite of her sandwich, she turned the page to the first chapter and began to read the story of Dorian Gray.

Hours later, Hermione was still immersed in the story of the man who had sold his soul for the chance to live forever. She found the story fascinating but especially liked the dynamics between Dorian, Lord Henry “Harry” Wotton, and Basil Hallward. She had read, essentially, that Dorian Gray was the subject of a painting Basil Hallward was doing, and when he found out how beautiful and naive the boy, who was very young at the time the painting was done, was, Lord Henry decided to befriend him. Within only a chapter, Lord Henry had begun his almost innocent indoctrination of the boy to his rather odd hedonistic viewpoint, and by the time Basil finished the painting, Dorian had become strangely enamored of Lord Henry.

As the three gazed on the freshly finished portrait, both Basil and Henry were struck by the beauty expressed in the painting, but Dorian was unusually repulsed after having spoken with Henry about the brevity of youth. Looking at the painting, he finally realized how incredibly handsome he was at that point in time and that his beauty would only fade from this point on. In fact, Dorian was so horrified by this revelation that he swore he would give anything if only the portrait could age and he retain his youth.

Thus, Hermione found, the odd bargain that seemingly sucked the soul from Dorian Gray was struck, and the boy aged no more. Through page after page of vice and debauchery, she read as Dorian turned into a man, coached into adulthood by the haunting tones of Lord Henry and chastised by the reproach of Basil. She read of his love for the actress Sibyl Vane and of his subsequent rejection of her when she failed to act to his standards. Then she read of Sibyl’s suicide and Dorian’s discovery that the painting was, in fact, changing with not only his aging but also his actions.

The next chapters gave Dorian more reason to hate the painting as it changed with his continued debauchery and sinfulness, and Hermione was enraptured by the concept of the painting changing to reflect his character and age. It was like something out of a wizarding fairy tale, and she was fascinated that a Muggle had come up with this tale. Unlike other Muggle fantasies, which were much too far-fetched (even the ones about Vampires) to be believable, this one seemed almost too lifelike for her comfort. For she had seen charmed portraits, in this very house, even, that retained the personalities of their subjects for decades after their deaths. Hermione was enchanted and appalled that such a story could exist, and she simply could not put the book down.

She had just turned the page to the next chapter, where Dorian led Basil up the stairs to the room he had hidden the grotesque painting in, when the door opened. She didn’t hear it, however, so engrossed was she in her book.

“Hermione?” The softly spoken question caused her to jump suddenly, and she looked up into Harry’s blank eyes.

“What is it, Harry?” She asked softly as well, and she waved him into the room.

The black-haired boy shuffled into the room and closed the door behind him, coming to sit in the similar chair on the other side of the table. He looked at the piles of books and then looked at his bushy-haired friend. Pushing his glasses up higher on his nose, Harry relaxed into the chair.

They didn’t say anything for a few minutes, and Hermione took the time to survey her best friend once more. His eyes had closed, and she saw the wrinkles etched into his forehead from his grief, but she also knew that he was still in pain. He hadn’t really gotten a chance to get his grief out and to really mourn Sirius, and it was killing him to be in this house now without having done such a vital thing. Hermione decided she would not push him to talk; he had sought her out, and she would give him his time. Putting a bookmark in her book, she took a sip of her now-cold tea and grimaced a bit. Before she could do so much as put her book down, however, Harry spoke.

“I miss him, Hermione,” the green-eyed boy said, eyes still closed. “And it’s so hard to be here. Where he should be. With Kreacher and Buckbeak and everyone in the Order. He should be here. And I shouldn’t.”

Hermione gasped at this comment. Was Harry beating himself up for Sirius’s death? Did he really believe he should have died instead? “Oh Harry,” she sighed, not sure what else to say. But she didn’t have to say anything because he continued.

“He should be here, and I shouldn’t. Because it’s my fault he died. I should have given them the stupid prophecy, and he wouldn’t have ever had to face any of the Death Eaters,” his voice was breaking now, and his shoulders were hunched, as he spoke. Hermione could see that Harry was very close to breaking down, and she could only watch in suppressed horror as he continued his diatribe. “If I wasn’t so stupid, if only I’d listened to you, if only we’d gotten out of there when we realized he wasn’t there... I just... I don’t... I want him back, Hermione. And the thing is, I know he’ll never be back. And I’m stuck here, in this house, and have to be reminded of him all the time.”

And there it was, the moment she’d been waiting for since Harry had arrived. Hermione knew he would never grieve for his godfather with the Dursley’s; they would never let him forget it if they caught him crying for any reason. And the end of the school year was not the proper time for him to grieve either. So she had been waiting for this since he arrived on the front steps of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. She slipped from her chair as he pulled up his knees and placed his head on his knees.

Harry began to cry, softly at first, but slowly growing louder as he really began to let out the grief he’d had building since he saw Sirius fall through the Veil. Hermione moved over next to her heart-broken friend and sat on the arm of his chair, looping her arm around him and pulling him into her embrace. His sobs grew louder still and were punctuated by the occasional murmur that she could not place but assumed were exclamations of his grief and guilt. Holding her friend, she rocked back and forth and rubbed his back softly, murmuring in his ear that everything would be okay, that Sirius wouldn’t want him to be sad, that he would be all right. But Hermione was finally feeling some sense of relief at the thought that Harry was able to mourn for his godfather, the only thing close to a real relative he had, and she wanted him to get this out.

The door opened quietly, and she looked up to see Remus and Molly slip in, followed closely by Ron and Ginny, who all looked as relieved as she felt. Hermione continued to hold Harry and comfort him as much as she could, and the other four filed back out of the room, leaving her with him, knowing that he was finally getting some of the grief he carried out.

An hour passed, and Harry’s sobs subsided into heaving cries that eventually melted into the occasional shudder as he rested heavily against Hermione and continued to let his pain ebb from him. Hermione stayed with him all the while, even as Molly checked back in thirty minutes to see if he was all right. They nodded at one another, and the red-haired woman left once again. Some hour and a half later, Harry sat up slowly and looked over at her, his eyes bloodshot and his hair mussed impossibly.

Hermione gave him a watery grin, her own eyes growing teary with her relief that he was going to be okay. Harry gave a small smile in return, the first he’d shown her since arriving at the Order headquarters, and she felt her heart leap.

“I only wish I was able to say goodbye, you know,” he said, looking sadly down at the floor. “If we’d only gotten to say goodbye, this might not be so hard. But he didn’t even have a chance before he fell through the Veil, and all I could do was watch. I couldn’t stop him or accio him or do anything to save him.” His eyes grew watery once more, but he stopped himself from crying. “And now he’s gone, and I can’t say goodbye. Hermione, why does it hurt so much?”

“It’s hard to lose someone you love, Harry,” Hermione told him, feeling very inadequate to answering such a question. “We don’t always get the chance to tell them goodbye, but you have to believe that they understand. The people we love understand if we don’t get the chance to say goodbye because they’ve been there, too. Sirius wouldn’t be upset with you for that, Harry; he would understand. He’s been there, with your parents and your dad’s parents. He knows what it’s like, and I’m sure he’d only be sorry for your sake, not for his.”

Hermione’s voice had grown louder as she said this, and by the end the passion in her voice matched her fervor for S.P.E.W. Harry was staring at her with shining eyes, and when she finished, she realized what she’d done and immediately blushed, turning her head down to the ground.

“Hermione,” Harry said, trying to get her attention. “Hermione, look at me.” She turned her face to him, meeting his eyes reluctantly, and he smiled at her, a true smile. “Thank you, Hermione,” Harry now said, emphasizing his thanks. “Thank you so much.”

“Oh Harry,” she said, in what he had come to associate as her relieved tone of voice. She threw her arms around him, and he caught her up in a hug that landed her nearly in his lap and Harry thrown against the side of the chair. The two laughed at one another, and this was the signal that it seemed outside eavesdroppers had been waiting for.

The doors were thrown open, and Ron, Ginny, Molly, Remus, Fred, George, Arthur, and Tonks all streamed in, grinning and calling to Harry in cheerful voices. It was then that he realized what his pain had been causing, and Harry grew a bit embarrassed that everyone had been so reluctant to be cheerful or to even try to convince him to enjoy life. Glancing at Hermione, he caught her knowing look and realized she was the only one who had really tried to draw him out, and that was why he’d come to her in the end. He smiled in true gratitude at her, and she smiled back, seeming to understand what he was trying to express without needing the words.

An impromptu party was thrown in which Molly shuffled everyone along to the kitchen for a late dinner, and Harry was made to sit between Ginny and Hermione, both of whom were thrilled to be celebrating. Fred and George sent up some new Weasley Wizarding Wheezes sparklers they’d created that flared up in bright colors before fizzling out in the air only to erupt in great explosions seconds later. Mrs. Weasley wasn’t too pleased with this interruption but let it pass when she saw Harry grinning at the twins.

Dinner was excellent, as all Weasley dinners were, and Hermione found herself feeling happy for the first time in days as they began to get back to the way things used to be. Even Remus seemed to be more cheerful than he had been, which was saying much for the best friend of the man who had gone to Azkaban for twelve years only to return and subsequently die three years later. The group carried on for hours, ignoring the pending war, the death of Sirius, the problems they were sure to encounter once they re-entered school and anything else that could possibly make them feel sad once more. At least, they enjoyed themselves until they heard the front door jerk open.

Molly, Remus, Tonks, and Arthur headed to the door to see who had come in, but it was Molly’s shriek that drew the rest of them from their meals. They rushed to the front corridor only to be met with the sight of Remus levitating an unconscious and bloodied Snape up the stairs to the first guest bedroom on the right. The adults followed quickly, Tonks rushing into the sitting room to floo Dumbledore and the others from the Order before heading up the stairs herself. Only a pool of blood on the doorstep gave evidence of the sudden interruption of the party.

“Could one of you clean that up?” Hermione weakly asked George and Fred, who nodded. Fred pulled out his wand and scourgified the spot, as the others watched with morbid interest. A moment later, George grabbed Ginny’s arm and pulled her back towards the kitchen, Fred doing the same with Ron and Harry.

Hermione stood in the doorway a moment longer before turning to follow her friends and wondering as she did what could have harmed Professor Snape. Back in the kitchen, she found Fred and George already scourgifying the remains of dinner in a subdued silence as Ginny put the cold items into the refrigerator. Ron and Harry sat at the table talking quietly. When no one came down, they decided to go to bed, one and two at a time. First Fred and George moved to exit the room, muttering good nights to the others, who responded in kind. Then Ginny yawned and did the same. Finally Ron and Harry stood from the table, both hugging Hermione good night before heading up the stairs.

Exiting the now cleaned kitchen, Hermione decided to go to the library and finish her book instead of going to bed. She didn’t think she could sleep after seeing Snape in such a state, and her emotions were going haywire enough with Harry’s sudden grief and her need to comfort him. Feeling quite sure of her decision, she entered the library and plopped down in her chair, allowing Crookshanks to hop into her lap when he tried this time. Picking up her book, she continued reading.

It was long after midnight when she closed the book, stretching once again as she placed it on the larger pile of books. She was still fascinated with the story, however, and as she lowered her arms, she picked up the book again, making the decision to take it up to her room with her.

Hermione’s fascination had continued with Basil Hallward as he entered the room where Dorian hid his painting, and it had turned to disgust with Basil when he realized what Dorian’s vow had done to himself and his painting. She was horrified when Dorian stabbed Basil and even more so when he hired Alan Campbell to remove the remains. Her heart pounded in her chest when she learned that Alan then committed suicide and Dorian almost got caught by James, Sibyl Vane’s brother. She continued reading through several more conversations of Lord Henry and Dorian before lighting on the last chapter of the book.

It was this, more than anything else, that caught her attention the most. The fact that Dorian went back to his painting to see if his one good deed could make up for the horror his life had become made her pause. And when he saw that the painting was even more grotesque than the last time he’d seen it, she knew then what would happen, even if it was more of a magical ending to the story than a normal Muggle ending. He took the knife he used to kill Basil, and in a kind of poetic justice that Hermione appreciated but did not enjoy, Dorian stabbed the painting, killing himself in the process and turning into the very man he was determined never to be. She found the irony a perfect ending to the story but was still unsatisfied as she wanted to figure out if Oscar Wilde had any wizarding blood in him or if he knew about wizards because this story had her intrigued.

Pushing Crookshanks off her lap, she stood, book in hand, and made her way to the door. When she opened it, however, she heard voices, and she listened hard to see what was being said.

“We’ll have to get someone else, Albus,” Minerva McGonagal’s brogue filled the hallway, and Hermione wondered what she meant. “Severus is obviously impaired, and he won’t be able to do much with his wand for a while. You’re going to have to replace him.”

A soft sigh came from somewhere, and she knew it was the headmaster. “Yes, Minerva, but I wonder if this might not be a sign. Severus has been loyal to the cause for many years now, but I feel this might be the end for him,” Dumbledore said. “I’ll make arrangements for a replacement soon. On both accounts.” The way he said this made the hairs on the back of Hermione’s neck stand up.

“Will he be all right?” Molly’s voice floated up to her. “He was so pale and there was so much blood when we brought him up. I’m amazed he made it here.”

“As long as he stays here and takes the potions Poppy left him, he’ll be fine,” Dumbledore reassured her. “But don’t let him leave, Molly. He can’t be allowed to leave until he’s fully healed, and that won’t be for a while yet.”

“Albus, he won’t be happy to hear what you’re planning,” Minerva interjected in a warning tone. “He was already making plans...”

“Yes, my dear, but Severus trusts my judgment,” Albus interrupted. “He knows that I would not do this if I didn’t find it necessary. Ah, Remus, I wonder if you have a moment to speak with me...?”

“Of course, Albus,” Remus’s calm tones reached her. “Shall we talk in the library, then?”

Hermione quickly opened the door wider and ducked into the shadows of the hallway, heading upstairs before they could get to her hiding place. She did not stop to listen but instead walked straight to her room. Walking inside, she got ready for bed quickly and slipped under the covers with Crookshanks curled on the end of the bed. Before she fell asleep, Hermione allowed the conversation she’d overheard to replay itself in her mind once more. It seemed Professor Dumbledore was going to be replacing Professor Snape, but he couldn’t be removing him as the potions master, could he? That wouldn’t make sense. Her mind caught on an idea that horrified her; what if he’d been caught by the Death Eaters? But Voldemort would have killed him for such a betrayal, wouldn’t he? Hermione wasn’t sure, and her mind couldn’t form a good explanation for what she’d heard.

Eventually she drifted off to sleep, but it was not as restful as she would have liked. Indeed, her dreams were filled with haunting visions of laughing skeletons glaring at her from portraits and her professor, lying on his back, pale and bloodied.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or The Picture of Dorian Gray. Those are owned by JK Rowling and Oscar Wilde respectively. I write for entertainment purposes only and never for pay.**

**The Portrait of Sirius Black: Chapter Two**

**By: Rae**

-A “Harry Potter” Fanfic-

 

_“The critic is he who can translate into another manner or a new material his impression of beautiful things.”_

_-Oscar Wilde, Preface from ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’_

The next morning Hermione awoke from a particularly disturbing dream and gasped aloud, her hand flying to her throat involuntarily. Looking around the room, she noticed that she hadn’t disturbed Ginny in the least, for which she was grateful, and she picked up her wand, doing a quick incantation to determine the time. It was 3 a.m. Hermione sighed softly and slipped out of bed, pulling on her dressing robe and slippers before heading out of the room.

She carried the book with her, determined to reread it for any signs that her dreams might be right. It had been an odd dream, to be sure, full of vague images and screaming portraits, but what caught her attention was the fact that only a magical portrait could age. She knew this would be the case, and there was something strange about the story of Dorian Gray that she was determined to figure out.

Slipping into the library, she pulled her robe closer to her body as the cool room enveloped her. Feeling the need for some tea, she sat the book down and moved to toward the kitchen to see about making some of the warm drink.

“Master wanted Kreacher to destroy it,” came a murmur from the sitting room, and Hermione snuck a peek into the room. “Master told Kreacher there’s no use in keeping charmed portraits. Not when he’s dead.”

Hermione’s eyes grew at the sight of Kreacher standing before the fireplace with various portraits lined up against the walls. Many of these held shouting wizards, all of the line of Black, screaming at Kreacher as he slowly dropped another portrait into the flames. Her mouth dropped open as she heard Phineas Nigellus’s voice coming from one of the other portraits.

“Kreacher, you do not answer to dead Blacks, but that does not mean you need to obey the commands of one who was alive only a short time ago!” Phineas seemed terrorized, and Hermione could imagine the frustration he felt as the portraits around him screeched in horror.

She wondered if Kreacher would listen to her if she tried to stop him, but she knew it wasn’t likely. Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder, and she looked up into the tired eyes of Albus Dumbledore, who smiled faintly at her before entering the room.

“Professor Dumbledore...”

“Kreacher, you will stop this nonsense right now,” Dumbledore said in a commanding tone of voice that gave the house elf pause. “You do not have to obey any of Sirius’s commands that he gave prior to his death anymore. You will not burn these portraits.”

Kreacher turned beady eyes to the headmaster and glared before mumbling, “Filthy Muggle lover. Oh yes, Kreacher knows. Kreacher always knows, and my poor Mistress...always being put upon to have half-breeds and Mudbloods staying in her home...”

Dumbledore gave a warning glare to the elf, who finally acquiesced and picked up the portraits that were left. Turning to the door, Kreacher marched out to replace the portraits, muttering under his breath as he left.

“It is,” Dumbledore’s voice began, “a rather odd hour for you to be awake, Miss Granger.” She turned to her professor and saw him smiling kindly at her.

“Ah, well, I-er couldn’t sleep,” she replied. Then she remembered something. “Professor, how is Professor Snape? Is he going to be all right?”

Dumbledore looked at her a moment before saying, “Perhaps a spot of tea would be nice. Yes, shall we head to the kitchen then?” Hermione nodded, not sure what else to say. They entered, and Dumbledore had a tea kettle full of water on the stove before she could move past the doorway. “There, now, that’s better. Hermione, I will be honest with you. Professor Snape is in very bad shape.”

Hermione looked at the older wizard with concern, seeing that the sparkle was nearly nonexistent in his blue eyes. “But, sir, I heard you speaking with the others, and you said he would be fine as long as he took Madame Pomfrey’s potions.” Her eyes widened as she revealed that she had been listening, and she looked bashfully up at the taller man, but he appeared lost in thought.

“If Severus knows what is good for him, he will do exactly that,” he finally said, pulling the now whistling kettle towards him and pouring it into two cups. “Unfortunately, Severus has never been likely to do what he is told, and he will not like being cooped up in this house. I am afraid he will do something drastic, and that could prove deadly for him.”

Hermione gulped and then sipped on her tea for a moment, considering what she’d just heard. She wondered... “Sir?” She asked hesitantly, waiting for his eyes to meet hers. “Did the Death Eaters find out about Professor Snape?”

Dumbledore’s brows knitted together in thought, and she wondered if he would see fit to answer her, but a moment later, he sighed. “I’m afraid one of them did.” Hermione wondered what this could mean. “Lucius Malfoy now knows of Severus’s work of spying on Lord Voldemort.”

This was bad news indeed, but something occurred to the brainy young witch. “Does that mean that Mr. Malfoy is the one who hurt Professor Snape?”

The headmaster’s nod told her everything she needed to know. Hermione wondered how this would work out considering Draco Malfoy was as good as a Death Eater and most of the other Slytherins had Death Eater ties as well. She’d heard Harry’s account of the loyal Death Eaters who returned to Voldemort when he was revived. Most of them had children at Hogwarts, children who would be eager to spy on or hurt anyone who got in their way.

“I believe now would be a good time for you to go back to bed, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore finally said, breaking her out of her thoughts. He stood after she did and then said, “I am going back to Hogwarts; I need to make some arrangements. Sleep well, Hermione.”

She nodded and told him goodnight before heading back to the library. Walking inside, she shut the door and noticed the book she’d put in the chair. Hermione picked it up but didn’t feel like reading anymore. Walking around the small room, she surveyed the books, seeing titles like _Dragon Keeping Made Easy_ and _Hexes for the Vexed_ and various dark titles that she imagined would be quite dangerous to open.

Her eyes fell on a group of books that she found rather odd. Looking at them, she realized why it was odd. The books were encyclopedias, Muggle ones, if she was correct. Feeling curious, she pulled out one labeled with the letters V-W and began leafing through it, looking for any mention of Oscar Wilde. Her curiosity was not sated, however, when she realized it gave mere Muggle facts concerning the man.            

Sighing, she put the book back and then pulled out the one labeled O-Q to see if anything could be found in this one. Though she knew it was a rather silly idea considering encyclopedias were arranged such that you found people by their last names rather than first, Hermione wanted to see if anything could be found on portraits or paintings or even pictures. She pulled open the section on pictures and saw, to her surprise, a listing for the book. It gave a summary and introduction to the book as well as a character guide that she found intriguing but ultimately unhelpful.

Ready to close the book, she flipped back a few pages to the Os. The pages seemed to be stuck together, so she pulled them carefully apart, realizing they were stuck together by a rather sticky article stuck inside them. Pulling the old piece of newsprint out of the pages, she was going to put it back more carefully when she realized something strange. Focusing more carefully on the page, she realized her eyes had not deceived her. The people in the small picture on the page were, indeed, moving!

Setting the book aside, she opened up the page more fully and realized what she was holding was actually three pages from an old edition of the Daily Prophet. Looking down, she saw that the date was some time back in the 1800s, a dreadfully long time ago, and her curiosity filled her again as she wondered what it could be doing in the encyclopedia. Pulling the pages open, she moved over to her chair and sat, allowing the glow from the light to give her what she needed to read.

Looking at the headlined article, she nearly gasped in shock. The title was as clear as if it had just been printed yesterday, and her eyes drank in the words: “Wizard Mis-Incantation Causes Muggle Death: Lord Henry Wotton Confesses His Side of the Dorian Gray Tragedy.” Hermione’s mouth dropped open as she read the article’s author, none other than Oscar Wilde.

Pulling the paper more closely to her, Hermione began to read the strange article that she’d found. She realized immediately that Oscar Wilde’s writing could turn Rita Skeeter into one of the idiotic tabloid writers her mother occasionally picked up at the grocer’s. Her satisfaction with that thought died when she read the beginning of the article.

_Lord Henry Wotton asked me to write his story, years after the tragedy that spawned his fall from grace in London’s ton. Why did he ask me to write it? It is because I am a squib. He arranged not only the printing of this article in the newspaper but also the publication of my first novel, titled ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’ to be released to Muggle presses tomorrow. But before I explain that, let me begin by recreating the interview I had with Lord Henry just two months ago._

_In a ramshackle house on the edge of a long drive, Lord Henry lives in relative silence. He is not harried by a wife, for she left him years ago. He has no more servants, for he realized they were merely going through the motions of service and let them go. His home is a quiet, empty place, but for the lone painting on the wall of the sitting room._

_It is the painting that his eyes go to more often than not during our interview. The painting is the reason Lord Henry says he has become this decrepit old hermit, living far away from society and having fallen from the graces of the ton. His stringy gray hair is unkempt, and his once-vibrant blue eyes are now dull with age and haunting pain. The skin on his face is loose and wrinkled, and his clothes are baggy, having long sense outgrown their master._

_Yet the painting is that of a master painter. It is the picture of an incredibly handsome young man in the prime of his life. His cheeks are pink with his youth, and his eyes are bright with innocence. He has the body of Adonis, Lord Henry remarks wryly, but the only mar to the painting is the stab mark in the center of the painting, right over the place where the young man’s heart would be._

_Lord Henry begins his tale, eyes often going to that painting, as he paints his own picture, a haunting story that leaves his eyes duller than before. It was on a summer afternoon much like this one that he met the incredible Mr. Dorian Gray, a young man who was sitting for his friend Basil Hallward, a painter. In fact, Mr. Hallward did not initially want to introduce the two but had no choice once Mr. Gray arrived. So it was that the ill-fated beginnings of a friendship came about over the painting of a portrait._

_By the end of that afternoon, Basil Hallward finished his painting, and Dorian Gray had been thoroughly indoctrinated into Lord Henry’s rather hedonistic viewpoint. As they surveyed the painting, Lord Henry noticed that Dorian grew angry with the realization that he could not stay like the painting, and he muttered that he would rather the painting grow old and allow him to stay forever young. His protest grew more vehement when Basil asked him whether he liked the painting, and the young man expressed great indignation that he should not be allowed to stay forever young in place of this portrait and that he would give anything if such a thing could happen._

_What Dorian Gray did not know, however, was that both Lord Henry and Basil Hallward were wizards, wizards working on the creation of charmed portraits that could keep the wizard alive in ways he could not otherwise do. When Lord Henry heard this utterance of his new young friend, he set out to find a way to charm the portrait for Dorian Gray, feeling it would be a terrible waste to have such a beautiful young man lose his youth to age and sickness. When he felt he had the incantation correct, Lord Henry stole into the Gray home in the dead of night and cast his incantation._

_However, at the last minute, he lost some of his nerve, wondering if this was the right course of action. With that single hesitation, Lord Henry faltered, and parts of his incantation came out differently than he intended. Not sure what would happen but hoping it hadn’t messed up the spell completely, he decided to leave it and see if anything changed._

_As days turned into weeks and weeks into months, Lord Henry watched as Dorian grew into a fine young man, still as beautiful, but much more disposed to cruelty. He was changing, slowly, into a mini-Henry, said Lord Henry. But what’s more, he fell in love with another Muggle, an actress named Sibyl Vane. When she failed to please him, however, he cursed her and drove her away from himself, only to find out that she later committed suicide. Both Dorian and Lord Henry were surprised to discover that not only had the picture altered after this particular tragedy, it expressed some of Dorian’s character: a cruel twist of the lips that kept him from appearing as beautifully innocent as he once did._

_Time passed, and eventually Basil Hallward discovered Lord Henry’s blundered incantation. He happened upon the picture in Dorian’s home by accident, on his way back from the bathroom, and he confronted Lord Henry about it only days later. The two agreed, however, not to speak of it again, and Basil, being the good friend he was, simply remained loyal to Lord Henry and silently grieved his young friend’s corruption._

_The debauchery continued until eventually Dorian shunned Basil’s friendship entirely. This broke the wizard entirely, and Lord Henry explained, he turned to his Muggle heritage and gave up wizarding forever, putting his wand away. It was for this reason, Lord Henry reported, that Dorian was able to kill Basil one night when he was visiting. Taking Basil to the picture room, Dorian showed him the horror the painting had become; when he turned away from it, Dorian grew angry and grabbed a knife, plunging it into his ex-friend’s temple._

_Hours later, he hired deceased wizard Alan Campbell to get rid of the body, but it was too much for the formerly disgraced young man. Alan went to Lord Henry hours before committing suicide, telling him what had happened and how he had contributed. Lord Henry was shocked and left immediately to visit with Dorian, not realizing what Alan planned to do._

_After talking with Dorian, Lord Henry allowed the young man’s ruse to continue, quietly mourning the loss of his good friend. By now, his wife had left him, and he was left with the mere friendship of a young man who had turned into a monster. Within a month, Dorian visited his picture one last time, having shut it away to avoid seeing the monster he was turning into. When he saw that his feeble attempt to reconcile himself with the painting failed, Dorian grew violent and grabbed up the same knife he used to kill Basil and stabbed the painting viciously. However, Dorian had never been privy to the secret behind his youth, and he did not know that destroying the painting would destroy himself._

_Yes, it was stabbing the picture that killed Dorian Gray, and Lord Henry mourned the losses of his good friends but was especially grieved over the tragedy he’d created of Dorian Gray’s life. And now as I sit with Lord Henry, he cries over the deaths and is inconsolable as he tells me that the invention of charmed portraits came only a month after Dorian’s death. It is, indeed, a true tragedy of epic proportions._

_I write this story for my friend, Lord Henry. Only two months after our interview, he died, an old, wizened man with many regrets. My story, based on the tale of Dorian Gray, was my last gift to the man. He begged me to write a novel for Dorian, one that the young man would have understood. For this reason, ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’ will be distributed among Muggles, that they might see Dorian’s pain, even if they do not understand the magical malady that caused it. -OW_

Hermione set the paper aside, shocked at what she had just read and wondering if it was possible that it could be true.

“Hermione?” Once again, Harry’s voice pulled her from her musings, and she saw that he was dressed in his pajamas and dressing robe. Looking at the clock overhead, she saw that it was now 5 a.m., not as suitable a time to be awake as she would like but certainly more so than 3 a.m. She wondered vaguely why Harry would be awake now, but one look at his troubled expression and she knew it was the nightmares again.

“Hey,” she responded, smiling at him. He walked in and again took the seat from the day before. “How are you doing?” Her question was met with raised eyebrows, which she laughed at. “I know you’re still having nightmares, Harry, but other than that...?”

Harry shook his head for a moment before saying, “I just wish he could be here to see all of us in his home. I’m sure he’d even be happy just to see Kreacher.” He smirked when Hermione’s eyes grew comically wide in denial. “At least he could have fun bossing him around. And Buckbeak misses him; I guess they grew quite attached while Sirius was on the run.”

Hermione smiled, remembering the night they broke Sirius out of the Hogwarts tower where he was to receive the Dementor’s kiss. It was a nostalgic smile, but she was still saddened by the thought that Sirius hadn’t gotten much of his life back before he was killed. The papers still called him a mass murderer since Peter Pettigrew hadn’t been seen yet, and she knew he wouldn’t have enjoyed remaining cooped up in the house.

“Do you think,” Harry began nervously, “he’s okay? Wherever he is, I mean. Dumbledore told me they don’t know much about the Veil; that’s why it’s in the Department of Mysteries in the first place. And, well, couldn’t it mean that he’s not really dead, just trapped somewhere?”

Hermione considered that for a moment. “I don’t know, Harry,” she started to answer and then paused, thinking again. “But I think neither Dumbledore nor Remus would rest if they knew that he was merely trapped somewhere; they care about him too much to do that. I mean, if they didn’t believe he was dead, they would do everything in their power to bring him back. Don’t you agree?” She looked at him and caught his nod before saying, “But hundreds of wizards have researched that Veil and some have even gone inside, and none of them have ever come out again. I feel like if they were trapped, someone would have to know a way to bring them back again.”

Harry nodded again, considering her insight, and the two sat in silence for a while before they were joined by Ginny, who opened the door quietly and came inside, nodding at the two of them before going to sit on the arm of Harry’s chair.

“How are you?” She asked him, smiling encouragingly at him. Hermione turned to hide a grin at the obvious feelings between the two.

Neither of them had said anything, but something changed between the two of them after the battle last term. When Ginny refused to be left behind, Harry had to admit some admiration for her, and Hermione was amused by that. After hearing the story of how she hexed Malfoy, Harry had been even more impressed, and then when they all came out of the Department of Mysteries, he had looked at her differently. The same could be said for Ginny, who had stopped dating Michael Corner, and even though she was dating Dean Thomas, there was something lacking in their relationship that Hermione knew was caused by Ginny’s obvious attraction to Harry.

She sat in silence, listening to them talk and did not interrupt until the door opened once again and Ron poked his head in. Seeing them all sitting together, he walked in, shutting the door behind him. “Hey guys,” he greeted. “Everyone sleep well?”

Muted replies met his inquiry, and Hermione grimaced, remembering her dream. She quickly folded the newspaper clipping and stuck it inside her book for safekeeping.

“I wonder if Professor Snape is doing all right,” Ginny casually remarked, glancing around the room. “He looked pretty bad last night.”

“Who cares about the greasy git?” Ron grumbled. “At least if he’s sick, he can’t teach us and take points from Gryffindor all the time.”

“Ronald!” Hermione chided, glaring at her friend. “You should be kinder to him. I mean, he’s been through a lot in the last few hours.”

Harry glanced inquisitively at her before asking, “How would you know, Hermione?”

She blushed slightly before answering, “Well, I overheard the others talking after you all went to bed, and they were saying that Dumbledore’s going to have to replace him. And then I spoke to Dumbledore earlier, and he said that Professor Snape is in very bad shape and that he’s been found out.”

Silence reigned at that thought for a few moments before Ginny voiced the question they all wanted the answer to. “So does the er-You-Know-Who know now?”

“I’d imagine he does since Lucius Malfoy was the one who found out about him spying for the Order,” Hermione replied. “He’s the one who hexed him so badly. Dumbledore said something about replacing him in two places, though, so I can’t imagine where else he would need to be replaced. I mean, he can still do work for the Order once he’s healed...”

“You think they’re going to get a new Potions teacher?” Ron asked, smiling even brighter at that thought. “That would be great! Maybe the new one won’t hate Gryffindor so much and will...”

“I doubt it, Ronald,” Hermione snipped out, glaring at him again. “As soon as he’s well, I’m sure Professor Snape will be back at Hogwarts, teaching Potions like he always does. What I’m more interested in is figuring out who Dumbledore’s asked to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

“He can’t get anyone worse than Umbridge,” Harry pointed out, grinning at them and suddenly calling, “Hem hem” in imitation of the toad-like woman.

“That foul, loathsome woman... what a joke of a teacher,” Hermione chewed out, scowling at the thought.

A moment later, Molly popped her head in and ordered them all to come to breakfast, and they quickly filed out of the library to the kitchen where Fred, George, Mr. Weasley, Tonks, Remus, and Mad-Eye Moody were awaiting them.

“What are you guys doing here?” Ron asked his brothers, looking somewhat annoyed to see them. “I thought you had a shop to run or something.”

“Shop doesn’t open till 8, little brother,” George replied, grinning.

“Besides, who’d want to miss Mum’s cooking?” Fred asked, smirking at his brother.

“Morning,” said Remus to Hermione as she sat down on the other side of him.

“Wotcher Hermione,” Tonks greeted. “How’d you sleep?”

“Well enough,” she replied, smiling at them and scooping a bit of eggs onto her plate.

Down at the other end of the table, Moody had cornered Harry and was now conversing with him about the need for some kind of spy detector in his Hogwarts dorm room. Hermione caught the mention of some sort of glass and listened as Harry tried, in vain, to convince the man his Sneakoscope was adequate protection.

Breakfast was, as usual, a loud affair, but when it ended, she realized all the adults seemed to be waiting for something, some kind of signal. A minute later, a piercing shriek came from the sitting room, and Molly leaped up to run inside. She came back five minutes later to stares from her children and Harry and Hermione.

“Ah, that was, er, Professor Dumbledore,” she said, smiling nervously at them and looking pointedly at her husband and the other adults. “He would like to speak with you, Remus.”

“Thanks Molly,” Remus said and pushed back from the table. He left and was back, again within five minutes, smiling about something or other. Everyone watched him with curiosity.

“Well?” Tonks finally broke the oppressive silence. “Did you get it?”

Remus’s grin broadened, and he said, “Albus said he’d be delighted to have me. And apparently Fudge has been... well, rather inclined to agree with him lately, so he didn’t put up a fuss.”

“What’s that, Lupin?” Fred asked, looking decidedly annoyed at the talking going on over their heads.

“Yeah, what’s going on with the Headmaster?” George added.

“Are you going to tell us what’s going on, Professor?” Ron asked, looking put out at Remus’s large grin.

“No, I am not,” he finally filled them in. “You’re just going to have to wait and find out for yourselves.”

Groans met this pronouncement, and Hermione shoved back from the table, feeling fuller than she’d been since at least last night. Thanking Molly, she took her plate and cup to the sink to be washed and then headed for the library.

An hour later, she was immersed in books, pulled out from all around the library, and even with the limited number of books, Hermione had managed to procure various books on the subject of charmed portraits. She was poring over them now as the door opened to admit Remus who did not look surprised in the least to see her there.

“How’s it going, Hermione?” Remus asked, looking amused to see all the books she’d pulled out.

It was rather funny, she had to admit. The piles of books that she’d had on the table were still there, but there was a third pile now. And there were two books, each opened and flipped on its inside, placed haphazardly on the arms of her chair. At her feet, various books were sitting, some opened, other closed with bookmarks in them.

“Fine, Professor,” she answered, distracted. Then something occurred to her. “Professor, may I ask you a question?”

He nodded, and she continued, “I wonder if you could tell me what you know about charmed portraits.”

“Portraits?” He asked, and she inclined her head to one sitting above the nearest bookcase. “Well, there’s not a lot to be said for them, is there? I mean, they’ve been around for a long time, and they’re charmed to retain the personality of the wizard or witch in them as well as to keep some of their memories intact to allow them to better interact with other portraits and people. I suppose it’s said that there are different kinds of charms placed on portraits, but that’s the general one.”

“Different kinds of charms? What do you mean?”

“For example, I’ve read about one charm where the person the portrait is being painted of can charm the portrait to retain more life-like qualities like the ability to audibly breathe such that when you’re passing by the breathing portrait, you can feel the breath.” Remus paused a moment, thinking. “I remember learning about a group of people who tried to charm portraits to bring back the dead; that was back in the 1800s, I think. And they were successful in some aspects, but overall they ended up quitting because it was too much.”

Hermione was surprised by this information but kept her thoughts to herself. After talking with Remus a few more minutes, she went back to the book in her lap, thoughts still on what he had revealed. She wondered if it were possible that Lord Henry Wotton and Basil Hallward could be a part of the group that tried to bring the dead back to life. It certainly seemed plausible, based on the article.

Remus sat in a chair across from her, book in hand, and the two sat together reading for hours until they were called to dinner. It was a quiet, comfortable time, but something niggled at the back of Hermione’s brain, goading her into silent contemplation and curiosity.

It wouldn’t be until the next day that she would find something she never expected, something that would change her life and the lives of those around her forever. But for today, Hermione was quite comfortable with the questions and ideas the book and her conversation with Remus had given her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or The Picture of Dorian Gray. Those are owned by JK Rowling and Oscar Wilde respectively. I write for entertainment purposes only and never for pay.**

**The Portrait of Sirius Black: Chapter Three**

**By: Rae**

-A “Harry Potter” Fanfic-

 

_“The highest, as the lowest, form of criticism is a mode of autobiography.”_

_-Oscar Wilde, Preface from ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’_

The next afternoon found Hermione watching an impromptu game of Quidditch. Ron, Harry, and Ginny convinced the twins to accompany them to Hogwarts, under the watchful eyes of Remus and Tonks, who were momentarily free from Order work and, for Tonks, Ministry work. After okaying their plan with Dumbledore, the twins immediately flooed Charlie and Bill, asking if they would like to join in the fun, but only Charlie was able to come.

Hermione was all set to stay at Grimmauld Place and continue reading, but Molly wouldn’t hear of it. She listened to her friends for only a moment’s begging before Molly practically ordered her to get dressed and go with them, shoving a picnic basket in her hands as she went. So Hermione followed the group, enjoying the atmosphere of being with friends and even enjoying the fresh air.

She sat with Tonks, who was amused by the antics of the Weasleys and Harry, while Remus walked into the castle for a conversation with Minerva and some of the other professors. It wasn’t long before Tonks had joined in the revelry on a spare Hogwarts broom, laughing and distracting the twins and Ginny with her constantly changing faces.

When she was alone, Hermione pulled out the book that had been haunting her for two days now and continued to read it again, not noticing when Remus came and sat next to her.

“You’re very intent on that book, Hermione,” he finally commented, startling her out of her reading. “What is it?”

She handed him the book and said, “It’s some excellent writing. I really like the plot and characters. I think my favorite is Basil Hallward.” Her lies fell flat even to her ears.

“What are you thinking, Hermione?” Remus asked, genuinely curious. “You’ve obviously got more than just this book on your mind. What-oh, look, what’s this?” He had inadvertently landed upon the pages holding the article.

Hermione grabbed for it, yanking it out of his hands, and then she tried to cover up her impetuous actions. “Uh, it’s um, an article. From my hometown. Ah, my mom sent it to me. It’s-it’s about some of my old friends, and I thought I’d read it while I was here.”

Remus raised an eyebrow at that and asked, “Can I read it, then?”

“No!” Hermione blushed and then said again, “No, um, it’s really rather private. Besides, I’m sure you’d be bored reading about Muggles and their jobs. I mean, Maddie’s doing a stint with the Opera and George is getting into show business, but it’s really not that exciting.” She babbled, pulling out some of the names of distant cousins and vaguely remembering that their jobs were actually somewhat interesting. After realizing what she’d said, Hermione mentally cursed herself for it.

A muffled scream and shout of “Ginny!” caused them both to look up, only to see an unconscious Ginny falling to the ground, having been hit by a Bludger to the head. Charlie, Fred, and George were flying fast after her, and Harry had just gone into a dive, trying to save her.

Remus and Hermione could both see that they would not be able to catch her, so Remus pulled out his wand, saying a quick spell, and froze the unconscious girl mid-fall, allowing Harry, whose broom was fastest and therefore closest, to gather her into his arms. Everyone flew to the ground where Harry, Remus, and Hermione sat with Ginny, trying to revive her.

“Huh-uh, what’s happened?” She asked when they finally wakened her. Her eyes were out of focus, and she looked confused to find herself in Harry’s arms on the ground.

“You got knocked out by a Bludger,” Fred said, looking abashed and staring at her in concern.

“Sorry, Gin, it was my Bludger. Didn’t mean to do it,” George added, blushing slightly at his still addled sister.

“Come on, you lot,” Tonks now spoke, taking control of the situation. “We’ll need to get back. Molly will have a cow when she finds out what’s happened. Remus, do you have that portkey?”

Remus nodded, producing an old green bean can that looked extremely dirty. Everyone circled round, putting hands out to touch the portkey before they whirled out of sight into the alley a block away from the Black house. Harry carried Ginny, who he refused to let walk despite her constant complaining, and the twins and Ron carried the brooms, making the whole group a rather odd sight to the few Muggles roaming the streets. When the coast was clear, they all pictured the home in their minds and waited for it to become visible so they could enter.

Once inside, Molly had Harry take Ginny straight up to bed, promising to bring them both some dinner, which Hermione thought was a rather amusing ploy to get Ginny to stay in bed long enough to check out her injuries. Charlie left for his flat, stating that he had a date and couldn’t stay for dinner, something the twins found hilarious. They also left a moment later with the excuse that there was a new addition to the Skiving Snackboxes they were working on that required their attention.

Remus and Tonks went with Molly to make sure Ginny was all right, but it wasn’t long before the three of them were back in the kitchen, Molly working on dinner while Remus and Tonks sat at the table and talked to one another in quiet tones. Ron seemed at loose ends and wound up sitting in the kitchen with them, not sure of his welcome in his sister’s room and afraid to incur her wrath when she was hurt. Hermione smiled at this; it gave her a chance to head back to the library.

Once there, she started to sit down, only to realize there were more books she hadn’t glanced over. Debating about reading the Wilde book and deciding she might find something more substantial to work with if she looked at some of the other books, Hermione decided to look at the one bookshelf she hadn’t touched. It was on the far end of the library in the darkest corner, and it contained, to her eyes, very few books that were not Dark. She tread quietly and cautiously close, wondering if she might open a book and immediately regret it, but that thought made her laugh. Hermione Granger had never met a book she regretted reading. She wasn’t about to start now.

Starting at the top shelf, she began to glance at the titles. Things like _Subverting Werewolves_ , which she wrinkled her nose at and wondered how Sirius could keep such a title, and _The Practice of Vamping: Tricks of the Trade for the Frustrated Vampire_ made her curious but not enough to take them out. Other Dark texts looked entirely unsuitable to her nervous eyes, and she continued her perusal to the second shelf.

At the left hand of the shelf, something seemed a bit out of place. The book in question stuck out further than the rest of the books on the shelf, so Hermione reached out a tentative hand to push it back in. Her obsessive compulsive nature demanded order, and she was going to have it, Dark text or not. But when she tried to push the book back in, she found she couldn’t. It would not go further in.

Pulling it out slightly to see if it were longer than the rest, she noticed that there was another book behind it, a smaller one that kept it from being put in its place. She yanked the book out and was about to shove the rest of them over to put it back when she noticed the title of the book.

In slightly upraised, gold calligraphy, she read _On the Incanting of Portraits Dedicated to Reviving Life_. Hermione’s brown eyes widened to the size of small saucers and she stared, shocked for a moment. She regained her wits when the book she was holding fell from her nerveless fingers, opening and emitting a rather high-pitched whistle. Swiftly leaning over, she grabbed the book by its spine, slamming it shut to stop the noise; then she quickly exchanged it for the new one.

The front of the book had the same inscription with no author’s name. Simply gold calligraphy on black leather, and she immediately felt a pull to it that she couldn’t explain. Opening the book, she saw that it was not, as she originally thought, a published book. Or at least, it didn’t appear to be so as it had lined pages with the cultured scrawl of the author flaring across, including spots of ink that had splattered on the pages and mistakes that were scribbled over. She flipped back to the first page where she reread the title and then saw the words “By Harry Wotton” in black ink.

Her heart clattered in her chest, and she wondered if this could really be the same man as the Lord Henry Wotton from her book. She flipped a page and read:

_I write this book for my friend, Dorian Gray. I also write it in acknowledgment that it is my fault Basil Hallward died. Indeed, it is my fault Alan Campbell committed suicide. On hindsight, I suppose I must also admit that I caused the untimely death of Miss Sibyl Vane as well, and with that knowledge, I must claim the fault for her brother, James Vane’s death as well._

_I write this book to elaborate on my own experiments in charming portraits. Basil Hallward, Virgil Stooksbury, Argus Filch I, Bailey Knight, Sera Sheffield, and I worked on various charms that would inevitably raise a person to life again through portraits. I regret to say that none of these fine wizards and witches ever got to see the fruits of their labor realized._

_This book is the culmination of my projects, from the beginning of our work together, to my individual work following most of their deaths. The insanity our charms caused in both Argus and Sera can be attributed to Virgil’s mistaken Latin; however, the results of their continued insanity can be attributed to me._

_I regret only that I did not stop the pain these charms caused before it was too late._

_Charming portraits requires a delicate balance of knowledge and emotion; it was for that very reason that we left off our research when Bailey and Virgil began to fight in earnest. To adequately charm a portrait to represent a wizard’s personality takes great knowledge in the one producing the charm and great patience in the one whose personality is being mimicked. It must be said, therefore, that in order to produce a stronger charm, one must have intimate knowledge of what is required to charm a portrait in the traditional magical way._

_In addition, caution should be shown in trying to replicate any reviving charms as it can be extremely deadly to the wizard or witch producing the charm. The charms I discovered as a result of my own experimentation have given wizards a way to revive those who are dead, to bring them back to life once more. This is an exacting charm that requires not only great patience but also a great store of emotion. However, I will explain more about that in subsequent chapters._

_My greatest regret in discovering this charm is that I was unable to use it on my kind friend, Dorian Gray. The charm, alas, does not work on Muggles. Bear it well, reader, that this is not child’s play. If you attempt any of these charms, be forewarned that you will either succeed beyond your wildest dreams or fail in such a way that you will be broken beyond repair._

It was signed with the name Lord Henry Wotton and had a seal of wax dripped upon it to make it official; Hermione skimmed her fingers over the page and felt the slight upraised portion of the seal, eyes rereading the acknowledgments above.

She sank into her chair, having crossed the room while reading, and eagerly turned the page, only to slam the book shut when she heard the click of the door opening.

“Ah, Miss Granger,” Snape’s silky tones flowed into the room, and the professor walked unsteadily inside. “I should have expected to see you in here. Well, no matter.”

The man crossed to one of the bookshelves and began to peruse it with interest. Hermione held back a sigh of impatience and looked at him. He looked much better than he had two nights ago. However, his skin was much paler than she’d seen it before, despite its pale hues from his life in the Hogwarts dungeons. He turned in profile to her as he pulled a book from the shelf, and she saw a long cut along the left side of his face, trailing from his temple to his jaw. The robes he wore were two sizes too large, and she wondered if they were borrowed from someone. Perhaps Dumbledore?

The man turned to face her and walked to the chair on the other side of her small table, book in hand. “I’m sure you won’t mind if I join you for a bit of light reading,” he attempted to sneer, giving her his patented glare.

“Are you supposed to be up yet?” She could have smacked herself for asking when he glared even harder, daring her to speak again.

“I’m afraid Molly Weasley does not understand my need to move and get out,” he responded, looking sourly at the floor. “I have agreed to remain in the home until Poppy clears me to go back to the school, but Molly cannot hope to confine me to a bed and not have me hexing her every time she enters the room.” His sour look was replaced by a small smirk that made Hermione shiver slightly.

Nodding at him, Hermione decided silence was the better course of valor in this situation and slowly pulled a large book from the stacks that kept her slightly shielded from the professor’s line of sight. Opening it to a random page, she waited until Snape did the same and then carefully pulled the leather-bound journal from its place crammed into the seat between her body and the arm of the chair. She settled the journal on top of the book for safekeeping and opened it back to the first chapter, titled ‘On Understanding Basic Portrait Charms.’

_The very basic charm used on wizard portraits has two effects. First, it mimics the personality of the subject, and second, it allows the portrait to share memories of the subject. This gives the portrait the surface-level knowledge necessary to speak and act like the subject. In addition, the basic charm also gives the portrait speech and movement necessary to interact with other portraits and with wizards._

_The ability to mimic the personality is something most wizards do not understand. This is because the charm uses very few words to create the mimicking effect, and it must be performed by one wizard on another. In fact, the entire series of incantations used in the charm must be performed within a small radius of the portrait in question._

_Once a painted portrait has been completed, the incantation is made while the paint is drying and must be finished before the last of the paint dries in order to be effective. The subject of the portrait sits directly to the left of the portrait while the charmer stands directly in front of both portrait and subject. The wand positioning is very specific; with one small flaw, the entire incantation can be disrupted and cause it to fail._

_As the incantation is said, the Latin used to mimic the subject’s personality causes the wizard in question to fall into a kind of trance, from which he will not be awakened until the end of the incantation. The words used force the subject to relive some of his most memorable moments, allowing for various facial expressions, mannerisms, and quirks to be apparent to the charmer. These personality traits are sent directly to the portrait with a flick of the wrist._

_Following the words used in the personality mimicking, the charmer then incants the words used to withdraw and plant memories. These words add an extra layer of mimicry to the portrait, giving it even more lifelike tendencies. In addition, they withdraw a majority of the subject’s memories, mainly those that have had a hand in making the wizard who he is. Once this part of the spell has been completed, the charmer once again flicks his wrist to the portrait, allowing the memories to flow into it._

_The combination of these two parts of the spell will make the portrait glow green for a moment. While most wizards have the unhappy tendency of associating green with the color of Avada Kedavra, I have the pleasant notion of associating it more with the color of a reviving portrait._

_Following the first parts of the spell, the charmer finishes with the Locomotor incantation, subtly different from the Locomotor Mortis spell but with the same basic principles. This part of the incantation twists the Locomotor to allow free range of motion and basic willpower to the portrait, creating a half-living, half-magical portrait that can be allowed to mimic the subject for decades after his or her death._

_When the spell is finished, it will give the portrait a gold glow, indicating it has been completed. The charmer releases the spell from its subject, thus allowing the subject to rise from his trance-like state, and the portrait retains the gold glow until the last of the paint has dried, at which point the portrait will be able to move, speak, and otherwise interact with others._

_It is important to note that most wizards also add the additional death clause charm to the incantation of their portraits, preferring not to be bothered with talking portraits until after they have died. This clause links a bit of the subject’s blood with the portrait in a sort of magical will that makes the portrait awaken upon the subject’s death._

_The death clause is a tricky bit of incanting, but most accomplished charmers can do it with ease. Unfortunately, very few wizards find charmed portraits of themselves to be beneficial until after their deaths. I have discovered they find it a strange way of retaining life despite their bodily deaths, and I have subsequently refused to incant any portraits of myself. Indeed, I have burned all portraits ever painted of myself and will not allow any more to be made._

A cleared throat had her looking into Snape’s curious eyes. Apparently he had finished reading and was simply sitting and resting. “May I inquire as to what has you so intrigued, Miss Granger?” His voice was patronizingly saccharine sweet, and she grimaced.

Glancing at the book underneath the journal, she nearly groaned at what she saw. “Well,” she began, pulling it out to show it to him, “it’s a book of Muggle children’s stories. It’s by a woman named Beatrix Potter.” She stifled a grin at the immediate frown that marred her professor’s features. “This story is one about a rabbit named Peter Rabbit; it’s quite cute. I could- I could, ah, read it to you if you’d like...?”

Her eyes grew wide with fake innocence that Snape read all too easily. “That will _not_ be necessary. I have to admit to some concern, though. Your reading preferences at Hogwarts do not generally run to such plebeian works. Perhaps Black is to be blamed considering it is _his_ library? You can’t expect much from one such as him.”

Hermione scowled at her professor, itching to tell him off for speaking ill of the dead, but a look at the smirk on his face stopped her. She would only make him mad, and he might try to leave, and then Molly would have her head.

“I grew up on books like this, Professor Snape,” she finally said. “They are rather comforting to me, and to be quite honest, I am happy that Sirius saw fit to add them to his library.”

Snape scoffed at that and then sniffed. She was about to comment when he stood abruptly, nearly keeling over with the effort. Hermione stood, wondering if she should offer him some support when he growled, “Don’t touch me, silly girl. It’s time for dinner. Let’s go. Molly will be wondering where you are.”

Hermione knew that he was simply refraining from saying Mrs. Weasley would wonder where he was, but she kept that knowledge to herself. She wondered if it was his experience as a potions master or his exceptionally large nose that allowed him to smell dinner from this part of the house. That thought caused her to giggle, earning her another glare.

The two walked slowly to the kitchen, slowly because Severus spent most of his time leaning heavily against the wall and moving at a snail’s pace. Hermione remained behind him in case he passed out, which she was afraid he was about to do at any moment. Arriving in the kitchen, she was amused to see that Molly nagged at him for a good five minutes, berating his insolence.

“Ah, Hermione, we were just going to send Ron to get you,” Arthur greeted her, grinning. “By the way, dear, Remus here was just telling me about the article you were reading earlier. Your friends sound fascinating! Did you say one of them sailed in the Offerrer, Remus?”

“No, Arthur, one of them sings in the opera,” Remus replied, chuckling.

Hermione could have kicked herself for her mistake. She’d forgotten about Mr. Weasley’s passion for Muggles! Now how was she going to get out of this one?

“And the other, what does he do? Something about show and tell business? Does that mean he takes things and tells people about them? Sounds rather bland if you ask me.”

“No, that’s show business,” she finally said. “George is a good friend, and he’s an actor on stage. He’s hoping to make it to Broadway, but that would require him to move to London and then to New York, which is a bit expensive.”

Mr. Weasley’s eyes lit up, and Hermione spent the rest of dinner regaling him with tales about acting and why Muggles found plays so fascinating. It was just good luck on her part that she’d been in several musicals as a child and could give him an idea about what rehearsals were like and how intense directors could be when it was close to curtain time.

After dinner, Molly put her foot down and told Severus to go to bed immediately. The potions professor looked extremely put out but acquiesced when she threatened to floo Dumbledore for backup. Ron waited only until Snape was in the hallway before bursting into laughter. This, of course, caused Molly to shoo him up to bed as well.

Before Hermione could say anything, Remus asked her to go at least to the library, and she knew something was going on with the Order. She accepted gracefully and was even grateful to get back to her book to read more of what Lord Henry had to say about the subject of reviving portrait subjects.

Burying herself in the book, she continued reading the journal, curling herself more comfortably into the chair, and devouring the words scrawled in Lord Henry’s strong handwriting. An hour later, she sat up in the chair, staring at the words she’d just read.

_Most wizards know that charming portraits leaves a magical trail on the portrait that can be activated either immediately following their incanting or immediately after the subject’s death. What they fail to notice is that the incantation not only leaves the portrait trail, it also binds the portrait to the wizard that is its subject. The binding is something most wizards ignore, but it gives them a powerful magic that they do not realize they can call upon._

_It is this magic that some say is similar to the bond between mother and child, so powerful that it can recall in portraits memories of the subject that were not originally pulled to it. It is this power that we studied when we began our research on the effects of charming portraits and how charms could be altered to produce different effects._

_Our little group never meant to experiment with reviving the dead. This is Dark magic indeed, and we wanted to experiment with other parts of charms. However, Sera stumbled upon the magical binding after a portrait of her was charmed by Bailey. The binding is almost invisible, but the charmer and the subject can see it momentarily following the end of the spell. The same golden glow that suffuses the portrait following the end of the incantation envelops the subject in a much lighter glow following the subject’s waking._

_Once we discovered this tie, we began to investigate it’s causes, which I will expound upon in the next chapter; however, when we really researched it, we found that it would be quite possible to use this tie in various ways. We experimented with different incantations and began to put charms together that could be used to heal the subject or to allow the portrait to show any physical harm the subject endured. In fact, it was a variation of one of the words used in the particular charm that I used in charming Dorian Gray’s portrait, a pitiful misspoken word that caused me regret for years._

_But I digress. Though my peers disagreed with me on many points, they did agree that it might be possible, though extremely difficult, to call back to life someone through his link to his portrait. We modified our research immediately to explore this possibility._

_Eventually death and insanity claimed the rest of my peers, but I remained devoted to the cause. It was only after Dorian’s death that I discovered the correct incantation. It is here that I will reveal it._

_In the following pages, reader, you will find the incantation to bring back to life a wizard who is the subject of a regularly charmed portrait._

Hermione stared and stared, eyes unfocused and brain running a mile a minute. This was incredible, and she couldn’t believe it was possible. Then again, she hadn’t read the rest of the book. Perhaps he would give some kind of disclaimer or caveat for the incantation that would render it unusable. Perhaps he never finished the book and thus didn’t actually put the incantation in it.

Unable to reign in her curiosity, she turned the page and saw the incantation, clear as day, lining the head of the page under the chapter titled ‘On Reviving the Dead.’ Her heart skipped a beat, and she considered continuing reading when she heard the odd sound of someone sniffing. Looking around, she saw nothing out of the ordinary until she realized someone was moving in the portrait above the book case nearest her. Glancing up, she saw that Phineas Nigellus was glaring at her.

“That text is Dark, girl,” he said in a calm tone. “You shouldn’t be reading it.”

Hermione glanced at him, “How would you know that? Were you the one who got it?”

Phineas shook his head. “No. But my idiotic grandson did. Blubbering baby couldn’t stand even regular books so no use wondering why he nearly went insane after picking up that one.”

“He went insane?” Hermione’s voice was hushed, but her eyes had widened. Even Lord Henry’s friends had suffered from insanity, according to his writing. She wondered if that might be the caveat he failed to put in the book.

“He almost did,” Phineas remarked. “I had to take the bloody book away from him before he lost himself completely. After that he was obsessed with portraits. Always wanted to get them made or charm them or other such nonsense.”

Hermione considered this. “So what happened to him?”

“Nothing. He lived a good, long life and then died. His portrait was burned years ago. He always claimed, even in the portrait, that if we’d just listen to him he could come back from the dead. ‘Course I was already dead, so there was nothing I could have done. Sirius was the one who burned the portrait.”

Hermione was surprised by this knowledge. “Was he like the- er- rest of the Black family? Um, I mean, did he share the same sympathies of Mrs. Black?”

Phineas grinned at her, an oily grin that she immediately disliked. “No. He just ranted and raved about portraits all the time. Tried to convince Sirius to read the bloody book and then yelled at him when he refused. Sirius burned it after one particularly angry fight.”

“So how do you know, then, that this book is Dark?” Hermione finally mused, not really expecting an answer.

“I don’t,” Phineas responded, surprising her. “But it drove old Lyconis madder than a hatter with obsession over portraits. No book that does something like that could be considered anything but Dark.”

Hermione hummed slightly before saying, “I think I’ll reserve judgment till I’ve finished reading it then. I doubt it will drive _me_ mad.”

“You’d be surprised, girl. That book is pure evil if you ask me. But don’t trust the old Hogwarts headmaster. I’m just a portrait. Feel free; read it for yourself. But don’t come crying to me when you think all portraits are out to get you.” Phineas’s cackling followed her as she exited the library.


End file.
